covered in crosses and mystical symbols he’d scrivened himself with a Magic Marker.
John would want him to remove the foil. It blurred the astral signals. It all had to come down.
He had a bad feeling about this. He should tell Constantine to go to-
Well, no, he shouldn’t tell him that. But he should just say no to surfing the astral planes, scrying for occult significance in the papers - it’d bring the Snufflers down on him. And he was very much afraid of seeing the Snufflers again…
“Got to do it,” he mumbled. “Owe John. And he’s gonna give me money. Pay the rent.”
There was another reason to. Low as he had sunk, Hennessy still sought ways to serve God. He suspected that Constantine was one of God’s chess pieces - counterintuitive as that might seem at times.
Dreading the thought of removing his protections, Father Hennessy put his hand to the amulet around his neck - and then remembered it wasn’t there. He took it out of his pocket, looked at it, and reluctantly set it aside, hanging it on the television’s rabbit ears. He turned the TV off, took one last pull on the bourbon, then went around the room, tearing down the aluminum foil.
The voices of the damned began almost immediately.
FIVE
T here’s something about a Sunset Boulevard motel room, Constantine thought, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking a judicious swig from the Jack Daniel’s bottle, especially coming up to dawn: furnishing semiotics saying that life is short and everything is trash - except how you feel. That’s what matters. So make yourself feel good and do it now. He chuckled, feeling the sweat cool him as it dried on his naked flesh. How did he get all that from a cheap seascape, a chipped dresser, a TV set showing MTV without the sound on, a butt-scarred blue carpet, blue curtains, bedclothes in a rumpled heap? But that was the message.
“Oh shut up,” he said aloud. “You’re drunk.”
“You talking to someone I ain’t aware of?” Ellie asked, passing the cigarette they were sharing.
She wasn’t asking it jokingly. She looked like she was in her early twenties, though of course there was no telling what age she really was. Lying on her belly beside him, her big eyes reflecting the Li’l Jon and the East Side Boyz video on the wall TV, she was naked too, but more casual in it, like a cat comfortable in its fur. She was slender and curvaceous both; she was a vixen and a sylph both. She was tautly muscular and languid both.
He managed a short drag without coughing and handed the cigarette back. She got up on her knees and took the fifth of Jack.
“Lung cancer, huh?” she said. She drew deep, deep on the cigarette, and laughed softly - the smoke jittering out with her laughter as she exhaled. “That’s funny as shit, John.” She drank from the bottle and put it on the floor.
“Yeah. Hilarious. So, Ellie - you didn’t answer me before… “
“We got distracted. You seemed happy.”
“Sure. But uh - any unusual soul traffic, maybe? New prophecies? Strange artifacts turning up?”
She put the cigarette in her mouth, squinting past the smoke, and began dragging her long fingernails up and down his spine, smiling maliciously - he could see her in the mirror under the TV
Constantine thought: Wall-mounted TV. Like in that waiting room for terminal cases. ..
“Lung cancer, John! No wonder the Boss is in such a good mood.”
Constantine grimaced. The Boss.
She rubbed and scratched, harder. “All those saints and martyrs slipping through his grasp. His own foot soldiers sent back to him in chunks…”
“Ellie…?”
“He’s going to take all that out on you, John. He’s going to enjoy ripping your soul to shreds until the end of time.”
“Ellie…”
“You’re the one soul he’d actually come up here himself to collect if he could. And you know how much he despises this place.”
“Ellie. A break here?”
Ellie took the cigarette out of her mouth and blew a smoke ring.
John would want him to remove the foil. It blurred the astral signals. It all had to come down.
He had a bad feeling about this. He should tell Constantine to go to-
Well, no, he shouldn’t tell him that. But he should just say no to surfing the astral planes, scrying for occult significance in the papers - it’d bring the Snufflers down on him. And he was very much afraid of seeing the Snufflers again…
“Got to do it,” he mumbled. “Owe John. And he’s gonna give me money. Pay the rent.”
There was another reason to. Low as he had sunk, Hennessy still sought ways to serve God. He suspected that Constantine was one of God’s chess pieces - counterintuitive as that might seem at times.
Dreading the thought of removing his protections, Father Hennessy put his hand to the amulet around his neck - and then remembered it wasn’t there. He took it out of his pocket, looked at it, and reluctantly set it aside, hanging it on the television’s rabbit ears. He turned the TV off, took one last pull on the bourbon, then went around the room, tearing down the aluminum foil.
The voices of the damned began almost immediately.
FIVE
T here’s something about a Sunset Boulevard motel room, Constantine thought, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking a judicious swig from the Jack Daniel’s bottle, especially coming up to dawn: furnishing semiotics saying that life is short and everything is trash - except how you feel. That’s what matters. So make yourself feel good and do it now. He chuckled, feeling the sweat cool him as it dried on his naked flesh. How did he get all that from a cheap seascape, a chipped dresser, a TV set showing MTV without the sound on, a butt-scarred blue carpet, blue curtains, bedclothes in a rumpled heap? But that was the message.
“Oh shut up,” he said aloud. “You’re drunk.”
“You talking to someone I ain’t aware of?” Ellie asked, passing the cigarette they were sharing.
She wasn’t asking it jokingly. She looked like she was in her early twenties, though of course there was no telling what age she really was. Lying on her belly beside him, her big eyes reflecting the Li’l Jon and the East Side Boyz video on the wall TV, she was naked too, but more casual in it, like a cat comfortable in its fur. She was slender and curvaceous both; she was a vixen and a sylph both. She was tautly muscular and languid both.
He managed a short drag without coughing and handed the cigarette back. She got up on her knees and took the fifth of Jack.
“Lung cancer, huh?” she said. She drew deep, deep on the cigarette, and laughed softly - the smoke jittering out with her laughter as she exhaled. “That’s funny as shit, John.” She drank from the bottle and put it on the floor.
“Yeah. Hilarious. So, Ellie - you didn’t answer me before… “
“We got distracted. You seemed happy.”
“Sure. But uh - any unusual soul traffic, maybe? New prophecies? Strange artifacts turning up?”
She put the cigarette in her mouth, squinting past the smoke, and began dragging her long fingernails up and down his spine, smiling maliciously - he could see her in the mirror under the TV
Constantine thought: Wall-mounted TV. Like in that waiting room for terminal cases. ..
“Lung cancer, John! No wonder the Boss is in such a good mood.”
Constantine grimaced. The Boss.
She rubbed and scratched, harder. “All those saints and martyrs slipping through his grasp. His own foot soldiers sent back to him in chunks…”
“Ellie…?”
“He’s going to take all that out on you, John. He’s going to enjoy ripping your soul to shreds until the end of time.”
“Ellie…”
“You’re the one soul he’d actually come up here himself to collect if he could. And you know how much he despises this place.”
“Ellie. A break here?”
Ellie took the cigarette out of her mouth and blew a smoke ring.
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